


I Howl for You

by Abbie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Friends With Benefits, In love with other people, No Strings Attached
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy wants to talk, and Felicity very much doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Speak, Just Feel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohemgeeitscoley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohemgeeitscoley/gifts).



> The first, short piece was originally posted in my collection Little Worlds, and was a Tumblr prompt, first line provided by ohemgeeitscoley.
> 
> I decided to follow up the sexy bit with something more. There might be more forthcoming. No promises.

"I won't let you use me like this anymore."

Felicity, perched on top of Tommy, her skirt riding all the way up her thighs and shirt open to frame her vibrant orange bra, stilled her fingers on the button of his jeans and looked down at him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to stop? I mean, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t _want_ to do, I can get off—and get off somewhere else.”

Swearing, Tommy grabbed hold of her hips, pressing her down to keep her in place—then taking a moment to _breathe_ through the tortuously delicious _pressure_. “ _That_ is not what I meant. Jesus Christ, Felicity, are you trying to kill me?” As if in answer, she ground down against him, and his chin tipped back, a frustrated growl rumbling in his throat. “ _I am trying to have a serious conversation here_ , stop _distracting me_ for a second.”

She snorted, palm sliding slowly up his abdomen towards his chest as she muttered, “Distraction _was_ kind of the whole point of this little get together.”

He clapped his hand over hers, trapping it against his heartbeat as he propped himself up on an elbow, looking at her drolly. “And don’t think I’m not grateful, but the _no strings_ detail of this arrangement is starting to not work so well for me.”

She pursed her lips at him in a little moue of displeasure, then sighed, leaned down, and kissed him, soft and almost chaste, before she said against his lips, “Let’s save that conversation for _after_ , hmm?”


	2. Please Forgive Me If I Lash Out

Tommy would realize later that she deliberately exhausted him after he agreed to postpone their conversation for a less _coital_ moment. At the time, he was too busy thoroughly enjoying himself—and her—to suspect she had ulterior motives for her unprecedented enthusiasm and flexibility.

They fell asleep laughing and curled into each other.

Tommy woke what couldn’t have been an hour later to hollow sheets and empty arms. He sat up hurriedly, the lamp on the bedside table painting soft shadows on the dips and planes of Felicity’s back as she shrugged into her bra and reached behind to fasten it.

For a moment, Tommy grinned and planned to pull the orange satin right back off of her—until his eyes followed the path of her spine and he realized she was already half-dressed in her skirt, her shirt on the edge of the bed beside her.

His smile slipped, then dropped as it hit him she wasn’t just dressing, she was leaving. Jaw clenching, the muscle working, he slid up against the headboard and flippantly asked, “What, no goodbye kiss?”

Felicity caught the last hook and eye together and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, lip pulled between her teeth. “I was planning to be gone before you woke up.”

Tommy exhaled sharply from his nose, leaning forward and propping his elbows on sheet-covered knees, one hand running back over his bed- and sex-tousled hair. “So, no talk, then. Pillow or otherwise.”

He blinked, wondering if he’d imagined her slight flinch, or if it was merely a flicker of the low lighting.

Sighing, she slipped a finger under her right bra strap, adjusting it, eyes dropping to the floor. “There’s nothing to talk about, Tommy.”

"The hell there isn’t," he bit out. "I told you I wanted to talk about us, so you decide to fuck me and ditch me instead?" She glared at him, but he jutted his chin out, too angry to be sorry about his phrasing. "I’m surprised you didn’t just climb off after you came and _leave_.”

"Tommy," she snapped, a sharp reprimand as her lips pressed together.

He looked away.

She sucked in a breath—he was surprised to hear it shake—and carefully modulated her tone and volume. “We can’t, Tommy.”

He barked a bitter laugh, pinning her with an incredulous stare. “Bullshit. That is just—that is just _absolutely bullshit_ , Felicity.” She squared her jaw and stood from the bed, dropping his gaze as she reached for her shirt. He watched her shrug into it and silently work on the buttons, and the first desperate whisper of defeat blew through him. Pleading now, he hung his hands between his knees. “Can you at least not break up with me when I’m naked? That seems needlessly unfair.”

She exhaled raggedly, hands tossing into the air to slap down by her sides. “We’re not breaking up, Tommy! We aren’t—we weren’t _dating_.” She shook her head, fingers raking back through her tangled curls when they brushed her cheeks. “This was just sex, it was _always_ _just sex_.”

Tommy shoved out of the bed, throwing the sheets away as he jabbed a finger at her. “This was _never_ just sex, Felicity! You and me, we were never going to _just_ be having sex.”

"Fine!" She yelled, hands spreading in sharp, dismissive movements. "Fine, it wasn’t _just_ sex! We were friends with benefits, _fuck buddies_! This was supposed to be _no_ strings, Tommy, we said before we ever kissed. You had to change it!” She stared at him, eyes wide, chin slightly trembling. “Why did you have to change it?”

He angrily turned and grabbed his jeans from the floor, tired of being the only one in this argument who was naked. As he stepped into them, not looking at her, he ground out. “It just _changed_ , Felicity, it’s not like I _decided_.”

She laughed, sad and cynical. “Of _course_ you didn’t. Tommy, if this isn’t just sex, what the hell do you think it’s going to be? You’re still in love with Laurel!”

"So what!" He fired back. "She has made it _very_ clear we’re done, _so what_ about Laurel!”

"And I’m still in love with Oliver!" Felicity hollered, her voice filling the bedroom even as she clapped her hands over her mouth and closed her eyes.

A tear slipped down her cheekbone and Tommy’s lips parted, realizing this was the first time Felicity had admitted it, out loud if nothing else.

She lowered her hands to her chest and sucked in a shuddering breath. “And no, he doesn’t want me, he’ll probably never want me, but that doesn’t—that doesn’t change that I _still love him_ , even if I don’t _want_ to, because it’s not easy, it’s the exact _opposite_ of easy and I’d stop. I’d stop if I could, _but I can’t_.” She opened her eyes, misery and a grim determination there as she found Tommy’s gaze. “So we can’t do this.”

Tommy shook his head, abandoning buttoning his jeans as he took a few steps closer to her. “Why _not_ , Felicity? Who understands better than me and you?”

"I deserve better," she said quietly, staring at his chest. "And so do you. It’s not fair, it’s _not enough_ to just like hanging out together and have really good sex. I—I _can’t_ do that, Tommy, I can’t be second choice.” She raised angry eyes to his, then turned away to look for her shoes. “I can’t be your consolation prize, and I don’t want one, either.”

Tommy flinched, rocking back on his heels slightly. “Is that—is that what you think this would be? What _we_ would be?”

She stepped into her heels and turned to look at him sadly. “Tommy. We already are, with what we’ve been doing. It was… it was really, really good, while it lasted. But it was probably always going to change. It couldn’t just stay easy, just be fun.” She stared at the floor, hands smoothing down her hopelessly wrinkled skirt. “But you don’t love me, and I either want to _just_ enjoy each other like we did, or I want to be loved, even just… the possibility of being _really_ loved, someday.

"I want the chance to be very first in somebody’s life, for the first time in _mine_ , and your number one slot is already filled.”

He inhaled like she’d stabbed him, recalling the late night conversations over popcorn and movies—before they’d ever touched each other out of anything but kindness or comfort or friendship—in which she’d shared secrets about her father and her mother like she was showing him open wounds, painful and vulnerable.

"Felicity, please," he breathed, reaching out for her arm. She jerked it away, and he withdrew his hand. "Yes, I love Laurel. I will probably _always_ love Laurel. I have loved her for what sometimes feels like forever, but that doesn’t mean that I—”

"Don’t," she interrupted, hard and commanding. "Don’t say it, Tommy."

"Felicity—"

“ _No_. We’ve done enough damage tonight.” She turned away and grabbed her clutch off of his dresser. “I have to go. I need to—I’ll see you around, okay?” For a second, she started to turn, as if she would close the distance and kiss his cheek, or hug him. But then she blinked and minutely shook her head, and walked into the hall. “Goodbye, Tommy.”


End file.
